Time Will Save Us
by elmjuniper
Summary: For 4 years Max has been the only one who knew about the tornado that never came, and the price she had to pay to keep Arcadia Bay safe. Just as Max thinks she might finally be able to move on with life time decides to throw her for another loop. No rewinds or time jumps only one last shot to save both Arcadia Bay and the girl she loves.


**AN:** Just replayed Life Is Strange for the billionth time and remembered a 3D fanart render I made of future Max. Looking back at it I decided I wanted to finish the story I'd started with that render. Hope you enjoy it! Please leave a comment if you do. :)

* * *

 _ **October 7th** I lost her. Again. And something has broken inside of me._

 _._

 _._

 **AFTERMATH**

The gallery was small, like a hole in the wall located in just the right area. Not by the main street where unoriginal stores like Nike and Gucci fought for bypassers' attention, but in a small back street far away enough to be perfectly hipster.

With its two rooms, there was enough space for gallery goers to browse each piece of art without stepping on each other's toes. It was the perfect size, not too big so that it would be too hard to fill up with art, but not so small it couldn't showcase some of the bigger prints.

It was what Max had always dreamed about. Ever since she had learned how to use a camera, this had been the crazy goal she'd put up there with all the other things she could only dream of.

She'd never been the self-assured kind of girl. She'd been much too shy and stuck in her own comfort zone to think she was anything but average. If even that. She had been so convinced that she was fooling everyone, most of all herself, by pretending she belonged in a school like Blackwell and its reputable art program.

Until that first day, the original first day when she first discovered her power to rewind time. It had all changed then. Everything had changed and most of all it had changed Max herself.

She let her gaze trail the white walls where framed photos hung silently, gaping holes that allowed the people who mingled around in the gallery a glimpse into the artist's memories. Into her memories. A snapshot of emotions she couldn't put words to.

A pirate hat with a blurred junkyard as a back setting, a lighthouse draped in darkness the moonlight spotlighting one of its sides eerily, and five beer bottles lined up on a wooden plank were just a few of the pieces that hung on the walls. To the audience, it might look like nothing. Or something. The way she framed it, lit it; critics would praise it or hate it. She didn't really care. Not when it came to this. This was hers. An ode to a long lost childhood, a eulogy to the past.

She rounded the wall, expertly avoiding any contact with the gallery goers. and stepped into the back room. She walked past groups of people who were too busy discussing her photos to notice her, passing more of the photos she'd taken over the years. Photos that usually got rated as beautiful or original. She liked those, she liked all of the photos, but not for the same reason the critics or gallery goers. It wasn't technical for her. How she'd lit it, or set up the scene. None of these photos were. This whole exhibition was nothing but emotional.

She pulled to a stop by the last wall. A white wall stretched five meters from one end to the other, but despite the large surface, only two dark frames hung on it. One frame held one-half of a polaroid.

A bucket with a blue butterfly. An edge of jagged teeth cut the photo in half and she diverted her eyes to the other frame. It hung further away on the wall. Not so far away people couldn't piece the two of them together, but enough space between them so that she wouldn't be able to use it.

She averted her eyes, her chest tightening at the memory of the day the photo had been taken. "That day", the irony of it. Which version of that day? The day when you died. It was a quiet whisper in the back of her head, one that had never gone away, never ceased to haunt her. One that kept her up at night even when she begged her tired brain to just fall asleep. And even on the nights when she did fall asleep, it still whispered to her in her sleep, reminding her of her best friend's face. The blue eyes that had widened in fear and grief the last time Max had seen her. Chloe.

Don't forget about me...Max closed her eyes. Never. She hadn't lied when she'd said it. She'd known from the moment she'd met Chloe again that for better or worse, it was going to change her life in ways she wouldn't be able to predict. In ways she would never forget.

Four years and not one day had passed without Chloe's face flittering through her mind. One thousand four hundred and sixty days, thirty-five thousand hours of not forgetting, of having to remind herself to breathe, to carry on because Chloe had told her to. I'm not worth it, all those people, my mum, Kate, even step douche. Chloe had cried in despair as she accepted her fate. For the first time since they'd met up again Chloe wasn't thinking about herself or what she wanted. She wasn't trying to outrun her destiny. Unlike Max who had cried and screamed that she wouldn't, she refuse to let Chloe die. Again.

 _How many times, Max? How many times are you going to have to save my ungrateful ass?_

 _As many times as it takes!_

Normally Chloe would go along with anything Max said, but this time Chloe shook her head. _Not this time Maximus._ Chloe had said before handing her the polaroid. And Max knew, despite the emotions wreaking havoc inside her, that her best friend was right. And just like that she'd done it, she'd gone back in time, one last time for Chloe. Only, for the first time since she'd gained her powers it wasn't to save Chloe. It was to watch her die.

Max opened her eyes again, willing herself not to cry. This was the grand opening of her very own gallery. It had taken her four years to get to where she was. Four years filled with guilt, grief, and loneliness.

That wasn't to say there hadn't been good times, of course there had been some good times and she had friends; Kate and Warren even Dana checked in every now and then to see how she was doing, but they weren't Chloe. And that knowledge made her feel lonelier than ever.

It wasn't fair to compare them, to ask them to be everything Chloe had been to her, especially towards the end, but despite telling herself differently, the more people she surrounded herself with the lonelier she felt.

She and Chloe had been friends for so long that even though she'd never thought it possible, falling for Chloe seemed as natural as spring time turns into summer. And man, she'd fallen _so_ hard. It had surprised her at first. The feeling in her chest she got whenever Chloe was around, how it had sort of just snuck up on her. And then the sudden desire to lean in for a kiss whenever Chloe was near her, or how she never wanted Chloe to let her hand go, how she just wanted to hold on forever.

These days Max rarely allowed herself to think of that. Mostly, if someone asked about Chloe, she would tell them how they used to be friends and then they weren't. It was easier that way. People didn't ask her about how she was healing after losing her best friend, the only person she'd loved. And they didn't give her that pitiful look people who lost their loved ones got. The look people wore when they didn't know what to say in fear of causing an emotional breakdown.

"It's a beautiful piece," a man next to her drew her out from her thoughts. He wasn't the first to say that. Throughout university, multiple people had offered to buy it from her. But it was the one piece she could never part with.

Not knowing what to say she simply nodded.

"I wonder what the story behind it is," he mused turning the tall champagne glass between his fingers letting it draw circles on his calloused palm. He obviously didn't know she was the artist and Max didn't mind. "What is your take?"

"Mine?" Her voice comes out scratchy and she clears her throat. "I-I wouldn't know."

"But if you could guess?" He turned his face away from the frames and looked at her with piercing blue eyes. Eyes that remind her of someone else, from another lifetime, another _time_ line and for a moment she faltered, let her mask slip, the one that had helped her going for the past four years.

"Partners in time." She let the words escape across her lips before she could stop herself, anchoring herself to the blue eyes as a memory found its way into her mind.

It was a memory she'd locked up, one she never allowed herself to think of. It tasted of rainwater and salt as Chloe pulled her close, hugging her so tight she thought she might break. Their lips and arms locked in pure desperation, one last moment together, trying to etch their presence into each other. As if somehow that would immortalize the moment. Keep it safe forever.

 _I love you._ The only thing that hadn't been tainted by desperation. The simple sentenced uttered in nothing but adoration. _I love you._

"Are you alright?" The man wore a concerned look on his face as she felt the first tears fall from her eyes. She threw a hand up to keep the sob from escaping her lips then spun on her heels fleeing the confined space of the gallery.

She needed to get out. Needed to get away. Away from prying eyes, from people who'd ask her if she was ok because she would have to lie again. Like she always did. That's what her life had become, a void filled by nothing but a gigantic lie. One that she kept telling herself and everyone around her. _I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm doing well._

She pushed past the people in the gallery, forcing her way through the crowded entrance.

"That's her," someone said behind her back, but she didn't stop to see who it might have been.

She could feel her breathing come in short gasps as dark dots began to dance across her blurred vision. She clawed at her chest, fighting to breathe when she felt herself crash into someone.

"Max?" Warren's voice came out from underneath a black umbrella. Apparently it had started raining. Not that she really cared. "Max, are you alright?"

"I'm…" She fought to get the words out, but she couldn't make herself say them. Not one more time. Not tonight of all nights. "I need to go."

She'd thought she was strong enough, that she could handle it, but she'd been wrong. After all this time she still couldn't face those memories. Lights blurred all around her, rain and tears distorting her vision as she willed her legs to take her further away from the gallery.

Then something screeched next to her, voices crying out in horror and she spun on her feet as the car comes crashing towards her.

On her worst days, when the past that never happened; Jefferson in the dark room and Kate almost jumping from the roof, became too much Max had always thought she would welcome the end. But as Max watched the vehicle, as if in slow motion, the metallic grill drawing closer instinct took over and she threw her hands up in the air. For a split second she wanted to laugh. _Sure Caulfield, stopping a car with your two hands. Good luck with that._

 _._

 _._

Blurring light and distorted sounds slowed and warped. And then a familiar tug grabbed hold of her pulling her forward with a hard jerk forcing out what little air she had left from her lungs. Opening her mouth she let out a soundless scream before everything turned black.

"Max?" Warren's familiar voice said from somewhere above her and someone squeezes her arm gently. Her head throbbed with an unforgiving headache and Max heard herself groan loudly. This was not how she'd seen the opening night of her gallery ending.

"I'm fine, Warren," she managed to say before biting back another groan. Man, did she just get hit by a car? Cereals? Yes, at twenty-two she was still using that word. _Fucking sue me, bitches._ She sat up slowly clutching her throbbing head between her hands as the sound of a car door opening reached her ears.

"Holy fuckballs! Is she alright?" The driver's voice cut through the air. Letting go of her head Max blinked in an attempt to clear her blurred vision. She knew that voice. She _knew_ it, but it wasn't possible. She shook her head. No, she must have hit her head real hard.

"I think she's ok, you didn't hit her," Warren said his hands wrapped firmly around her arm as he helped her stand up.

"That was _hella_ close."

Max blinked away the last bit of blurriness, the paved parking lot, and green grass that she hadn't seen in four years coming into view. Then looking up at the driver in front of her she saw black and blue morphing into an all too familiar beanie covering azure blue hair.

"Chloe?"

 **TO BE CONTINUED...**


End file.
